Pilot
My forehead was pressed to the cold airplane window, the glass fogging with every slow breath I took. The low hum of the engines buzzed in my ears like static, lulling and constant. The cabin was dim, cast in the soft blue haze of the overhead lights, and everything felt distant. Quiet as I drifted off.
~~~
The forest was alive.
Towering pines rose around me like prison bars, their trunks dark and endless. The moon was just a smear behind racing clouds, throwing flickering shadows across the forest floor. My breath came hard and fast. I was running—barefoot, my nightdress clinging to my legs in wet tatters, heart thundering in my chest like it was trying to break free.
I didn’t know what I was running toward—just what I was running from.
Two figures.
Not quite men. Tall. Strong. Unnaturally graceful. They moved like predators, like shadows. I couldn’t hear them—no leaves crunching underfoot, no breath in the icy air. I couldn’t see their faces either—just the sculpted suggestion of them. All sharp lines, impossible beauty, and something else…
Intent.
They were hunting me.
Branches clawed at my arms and legs, slicing into my skin like paper. The wind screamed through the trees and carried my name with it.
Kismet.
I stumbled, caught myself and kept going. My lungs burned, my legs screamed but I couldn’t stop. No, I didn’t dare.
Then I turned a corner—and they were there.
Waiting.
Smiling.
The one in front reached out a hand. Another tilted his head, his eyes glinting like onyx.
I tried to scream.
WHUMP.
The plane jolted hard, and my eyes snapped open.
For a few disoriented seconds, I didn’t know where I was. My heart was still racing, chest tight like I was still being chased. Then the captain’s voice crackled through the speakers above me.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re beginning our final descent into Washington Dulles International Airport. Please fasten your seatbelts and prepare for landing.”
I sat up straighter and pushed my hair back from my damp forehead, still trying to shake the dream. The older man next to me, snoring softly through his headphones and trench coat, hadn’t even flinched. I envied him.
It was just a dream, I told myself.
But it hadn’t felt like one.
The tires screeched against the runway, a guttural rumble shaking through the floor of the plane. Lights whipped past the window, and in the distance, the skyline of D.C. slowly came into view—washed in the glow of a setting sun. Orange. Yellow. Indigo. Violet.
Home.
After four years in London, all I wanted was to melt into my mountain of pillows and vanish beneath my favorite fluffy blanket. Just… disappear for a little while.
The terminal was buzzing, a sea of tired travelers and overhead announcements. I moved through customs and immigration like a ghost, dragging my carry-on behind me. My limbs felt heavy. My brain was foggy. No amount of fake airport heat could touch the chill still coiled around my spine.
And then I saw them.
My parents, standing just past the barrier, lit by the harsh fluorescent lights.
“Kismet!”
My mom was first—graceful even in her jean jacket and old jeans. Her curly black hair was shorter now, framing her olive-toned face in soft waves. She threw her arms around me, pulling me into one of those mom-hugs that nearly crush your ribs but somehow make it easier to breathe.
“Oh, baby, look at you. You’re thinner. Are you eating? You smell like airplane and anxiety.”
I let out a tired laugh. “Hi, Mama.”
My dad followed right after, his bouquet of slightly wilted tulips getting crushed between us as he hugged me.
“There’s my girl,” he said, voice rough but warm. “How’s London? You look like a zombie. Did the Brits steal your soul or just your sleep?”
“Honestly? Probably both,” I said, smiling faintly. “And I had a terrible dream.”
“Aww, poor baby,” Mom said with a pout. “Come on, let’s get you home. Your father tried to sweet-talk the meter maid. She threatened to tase him.”
“It was a respectful disagreement,” Dad muttered.
We walked out into the night, me nestled between them. The familiar drone of luggage wheels and distant crying babies surrounded us. And for the first time in a long time, I felt… safe. Whole.
They helped load my bags into the car, and the moment I sank into the backseat, I was already half asleep. The rhythm of the road, the familiar scent of my dad’s cologne, and the warm hum of my mother’s voice from the front seat lulled me completely under.
~~~
“We’re here, Kissie!”
My mom tapped my leg, and I blinked awake with a yawn, arms stretching upward. It was only 8:39 PM, but already completely dark outside. Through the window, I saw the outline of our two-story house—still proudly standing, framed by the soft shadows of my mom’s garden and her carefully planted blossom trees.
Excitement fluttered in my chest as the thought of my bed took over. Nothing sounded better than collapsing into a coma.
With my parents’ help, I hauled my bags up to the front door. The moment we stepped inside, I inhaled the scent of cinnamon and home.
Everything was exactly the same.
The white fabric couches, the cluttered side tables with their knick-knacks, the spider plant thriving in the center of the coffee table. The walls were covered in family photos and certificates—proof of every little thing they were proud of me for.
Upstairs, I made my way to my old room—purple and white, just like I left it. My hands were full, so I kicked the door open, wincing when it smacked the wall. Hopefully, no one heard that.
I set my bags down gently and looked around with a soft smile. My queen-size bed with its purple comforter. The wide dresser still holding all the best pieces of my high school years. My flat screen TV on the tall dresser in the corner. The window, half-covered by silk blackout curtains. My walk-in closet, still packed. My own bathroom, like every teenage girl’s dream.
I wandered the room for a moment, fingers brushing over old photos on the wall. Then I slipped into the bathroom and flipped on the light.
It looked just the way I remembered it—medium-sized, purple and white tile, purple bath mats, the faint scent of bleach and lavender telling me Mom had been in here cleaning recently. I smiled at the memory of dyeing my hair purple once. Mom had been furious while I just laughed.
Catching my reflection in the wide three-door mirror, I frowned. My hazel eyes looked tired. Shadowed. Yeah, I definitely looked like I’d just flown across the Atlantic and survived a supernatural nightmare.
I stepped back into my room, crawled onto my bed, brushed a few stray curls from my face, and let my eyes close.
Please, no forests tonight.
Let it just be sleep.
And this time, that’s exactly what it was. Just sleep.
